


Bad Days

by starlight_starbright



Series: Stucky College AU's [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Art Galleries, Artist Steve, Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mention of Character Death, Musician Bucky, Nervousness, Non-Explicit Sex, Singing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, cute boyfriends, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's gallery opening has him a nervous wreck and Bucky has the privilege of comforting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Days

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are from some college AU's floating around tumblr.

It’s the evening of Steve’s art gallery for his senior project and to say he’s nervous would be an understatement. He’s been running around all week submitting pieces and getting things ready—picking music and drinks and food platters. He just wants it to be perfect. There will be scouts there from prestigious organisations he would be lucky to land a job in. Everything has to be just right.

He has to be just right.

And so two hours before it opens, Steve still isn’t dressed. He can't decide what to wear. Does he dress semi-formal or formal? Does he wear a tie or a bow-tie? Does he wear a tux or a suit? He doesn’t fucking know. He’s brushed his teeth three times in the last fifteen minutes and re-styled his hair twice. Bucky keeps telling him he looks fine, that things will be okay, but Steve can't bring himself to believe that.

Because what if they’re not? What if no one shows up or no one buy any of his art? What if no one likes his pieces? What if all the important people show up and he looks like an idiot?

He only realises he’s been speaking aloud when Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s middle. 

“None of that will happen, Steve,” the brunet soothes. “Everything is going to work out just fine. You’ve been putting your heart and soul into this show for two months. All of your hard work is about to pay off, okay?” Bucky kisses the nape of his neck and Steve feels himself starting to relax. He turns in Bucky’s grip to bury his face in the older man’s neck. Flesh and metal hands run down his spine, comforting. 

“Sing to me?” he asks, looking down at Bucky. Bucky’s about two inches shorter than him, but it’s times like these that Steve feels like he’s small again. Small and sick and a nervous wreck.

“Of course, Stevie.” And Bucky starts to sing. “ _Let me in the_ _wall you’ve built around/w_ _e can light a_ _match and burn it down/_ _Let me hold your_ _hand and dance 'round and 'round the flames/_ _In front of us/_ _Dust to dust._ ” Steve’s muscles are relaxing, the tension draining out of him at the soft petting and the sound of Bucky’s voice. “ _You're like a mirror, reflecting me/Takes one to know one, so take it from me/You've been lonely/You've been lonely, too long/We've been lonely/We've been lonely, too long.”_ Bucky holds the last note for a few beats before letting it die out and kisses Steve softly.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, calmer now. He can do this.

“Love you,” Bucky reminds him. “You’ll do great. Wear your black suit. Blue tie. It’ll bring out your eyes.” Bucky flashes him a grin and Steve does as he says, getting dressed and ducking into the bathroom to fix his hair again. Bucky’s brushing his teeth, already dressed in an all-black, form-fitting ensemble that makes him look absolutely stunning. Bucky bumps Steve’s hip with his own and Steve grins at him, earlier nervousness gone. Bucky’s here and Bucky’s going to go with him and he’ll be there the whole time.

Steve can do this.

-

The gallery looks beautiful when they walk in. There’s soft music playing in the background—the mix that Bucky’d helped Steve put together—and everyone is dressed to the nine’s. It’s fancy—fancier than anything Steve ever thought he’d be a part of, but he’s grateful. So damn grateful for everything. So when Peter Parker approaches him at the end of the night, he can't help but stutter over his words a bit. It’s Peter fucking Parker—the most well-known artist in the city.

“This . . . it speaks to the soul,” he tells Steve, gesturing at the piece on the wall in front of them. It’s the only one not for sale. Dark lines of charcoal that make up Bucky’s form sprawled on the couch reading a book, lighter strokes to make up the metal arm, late afternoon light reflected off of the shiny surface. It’s peaceful, one of his favourites.

“Than you,” Steve replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Here’s my card,” Peter says, handing Steve a small rectangle of card-stock. “I’d love for you to come in some time. We could use someone with your talent.” Steve gapes at him and Peter smiles generously, clapping him on the shoulder before walking across the room and wrapping an arm around his date—Gwen Stacey.

“Who was that?” Bucky asks from behind him. Natasha, Sam, Tony, Bruce, Clint, and Phil are there too with champagne glasses. Bucky hands one over. 

“Peter Parker,” Steve says, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid.

“ _The_ Peter Parker?” Tony asks, in awe. Steve nods.

“He wants me to work for him,” Steve whispers, still unbelieving.

“That’s great, Steve,” Bucky tells him, wrapping a steady arm around his waist. Steve nods, his friends still beaming at him, and wonders how the hell he got so lucky.

-

In the end, all of Steve’s pieces sell and Bucky takes great joy in teasing him about it with _I told you_ _so’s_. Steve just rolls his eyes and pins Bucky to the bed as soon as they get home, ripping out of jackets and shirts and pants. Steve tells Bucky to leave his tie on—better to hold onto him with. They kiss and bite and bring their bodies together, slick with sweat and want.

And when Steve enters him, he’s coming home.

-

That night, while Steve is holding Bucky, he realises something. It’s not anything big, not anything earth-shattering, but it’s something all the same.

“My Ma should have been there,” he whispers into the night. It’s like a knife to his heart, that realisation. It fucking _hurts_ that his Ma didn’t live to see Steve become successful, to see Steve be happy and settle down and find a man he loves and a career he loves and discover a place for himself. It’s not _fair_. Bucky stirs in his arms and looks up at him, all pale blue eyes and kitten-soft hair.

“She would be so proud of you, Steve,” Bucky says, flesh hand pressed over Steve’s heart. “And you know she was watching. You know she was.” Bucky lets Steve tremble, lets him cry. It’s been two years since Sarah Rogers died and it’s never gotten any easier.

But Bucky’s here. Bucky’s here to hold him together and kiss him when he’s sad and to love him like Steve wants to be loved.

“I know, Buck. I know she would.” Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s lips, lingering pressure and softness.

“ _I’m_ so proud of you,” the brunet whispers. “You know that, right? How proud I am of you? How much I love you?” Steve ducks down and presses himself as close as he can to the man in his arms.

“If it’s anywhere close to how proud I am of _you_ , to how much I love _you_ , then yeah, Buck. Yeah.” Steve smiles and kisses his boyfriend, feeling calm and confidant and completely, totally, irrefutably, head-over-heels in love.


End file.
